Thursday, January 27, 2011
Not about you...about you all.
I'd like to speak to the special agent in charge of this whole fiasco. Relationships. Men and women, men and men, women and women, and any other combinations you can think of. They can be gold, and they can be cancer. Regardless of the situation, regardless of the problems and the vitriol and the issues, once its gone you just want it back. Entirely contradictory to everything rational, but nobody ever said emotions had any correlation with rationality. We are all controlled by impulse, we'd all fight and scratch and kill to get something that in the end might very well destroy us quicker then we could destroy each other. We all yearn for that human connection, and we'll drive ourselves insane to achieve it. Happiness is so fleeting from inside a padded room, and those embraces we so long for are complicated by straight jackets. Smile that vacant smile and take your meds, if you are weak enough you can let your fantasies become your life, but it'll only ever be in your head. I've been mentally shuffling through my rolodex of every woman who's ever meant something to me, and it's not such a long list. I miss them all though, the good, the bad, and yes, the ugly. I miss late nights talking in parks, long drives, the rain and everything in it, the music that has provided a soundtrack to each and every girl I've taken interest in, and packs of cigarettes smoked throughout conversations that seemed so goddamned important at the time. It's strange how now they can seem important again, like some sort of network error I never noticed, severe delayed reaction. I feel like the lines are up again though, data is being sent and received, and there are connections, some to be made, some to be reestablished, some to be severed if they haven't been already. I think I could make you happy, I just don't know who you are yet.